


Just a little Game

by bonsaiScribbler



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, On Hiatus, Psychological Torture, Torture, dub-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-02
Updated: 2012-09-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 18:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonsaiScribbler/pseuds/bonsaiScribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to a kink meme prompt.</p><p> </p><p>It's all just a game of control to the Grand Highblood, but as long as he gets his way...</p><p>The Grand Highblood uses Karkat to break the Sufferer, and Karkat himself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, they are still not mine.
> 
> Prompt can be found here: http://homesmut.livejournal.com/12138.html?thread=25524586#t25524586

You hurt everywhere. Your wrists hurt from the metal cuffs, which keep your arms firmly in place above your head. Your shoulders hurt from the strain your own body puts on them. Your torso hurts from the scratches and bruises, some which are starting to get infected. You legs are weak and numb, unable to hold you up, putting even more strain on your shoulders. Your back burns from the whiplashes. But the worst hurt is inside of you. Where he violated you.

Candy red blood flows down from between your legs, mingling with his indigo genetic material.

You hate him. But you know that you can't do anything, are at his mercy. And mercy, he has none. Even if your arms and legs were free, even if you were completely healthy, you'd still be no match for him. He towers over you, muscles twice as thick as yours, limbs longer, and he is a better fighter.

No, you don't stand a chance. But you will not submit to him.

The respite block you're kept in is cold, like its owner. Skulls of his victims used as decorations, used to boast his strength and the power he holds over you. Some skulls are decorated with candles, providing the only light in the room. But you don't need light. You're a troll, your night vision is even better than your day vision. Besides, the candles are not meant to lighten up this place, but for their wax to be used on you. You hate the wax. Mainly because the heat reminds you that you are still alive.

You can see him on the other side of the room, watching you, contemplating his next move, his next way to break you. But whatever he plans, it's not going to work. You have lived your whole life in pain, pain caused by the hemospectrum, and the trolls, who thought they were above you. He is one of them. He thinks he has the right to do to you whatever he wants to. You denied him his rights, so he took them by force.

He stalks towards you, and you almost expect him to lash out with the whip, the one he has been toying with while watching you, or at least for him to bite your throat. Yet instead of doing these things, he reaches out and grabs your legs. You know what's going to come next, you're merely curious why he hasn't bothered with the usual torture. Maybe he is growing as tired of it as you are. He puts your legs over his shoulders and enters you with one swift move.

It hurts. It always does. It feels like you are being torn apart from the inside. He's big, so much bigger than you. His rough thrusts open barely healed tears inside of you, and you grunt in pain. Blood is starting to flow steadily again.  
He bites your neck and rakes his nails over your back. It hurts, but you will not give him the pleasure and cry. You lose your sense of time and wait for it to end. His movements get rougher and you feel that he is close. The worst humiliation has yet to come, but it won't take much longer. He growls and bites your nipples, then moves back to you throat and latches onto it. He thrusts into you once, twice, and then he is filling you with his genetic material. Marks you as his possession. You hate it, but you can do nothing about it.

All you can do is stay strong, and not give him the pleasure of breaking down.

 

When all is done, you allow yourself to catch your breath. You are about to defy him once more and, fruitlessly, try to talk some sense into him, when you hear a gasp. But it was neither you nor the Grand Highblood, and you feel him pulling out, going after the intruder. You try to compose yourself and try to see what is happening. But everything is a blur, and the Grand Highblood is blocking your view of the struggling person beneath him.

A terrified shriek follows the tearing of the intruders clothes, and you can hear the Grand Highblood chuckle. Not in amusement, mind you. It's a horrible sound. Filled with lust, insanity, and satisfaction.

You can't tell who he caught yet, but you fear for the strangers life, or at least his physical wellbeing.

When the Grand Highblood moves to stand, you can see that he is grabbing a tiny troll, not even mature yet, by his horns. He is even smaller than you, but there is something eerily familiar about him. You can't figure out what it is, since He is still blocking most of your view, but you know that this tiny troll won't stand a chance against the Grand Highblood. You just hope that the young one will make it out alive.

Then He turns and shoves the little troll roughly in front of you. He holds him in place, so you can get a good look at his face. It looks just like you. Your bloodpusher starts beating so hard that you are convinced He hears it. He must be your bloodmatch, your descendant, follower, anything. He is definitely related to you in some way. The thought alone is enough to make you want to take the little troll in your arms and protect him from everything.

He is terrified, and struggling against the Grand Highblood's grip, but you know from experience that there is no way that he will break loose. You try to get His attention, but He's completely focused on his new plaything. You pray that the little one will be spared from what you have suffered through, but you know that, whatever gods exist, have long abandoned you.

You want to keep your descendant – you assume that he has to be your descendant, since he looks so much like you, and you are certain that his blood colour is the same as yours – safe from what the Grand Highblood will do. You hope that He will only make the little troll watch, but you know better by now. That monster has no mercy, slaughtering grubs, wigglers and trolls alike, not sparing the innocent or helpless ones.

Your blood boils when you see Him almost gently caressing the young trolls cheeks, and grinning at you. He knows what you are thinking, knows that this troll might prove to be your weakness. You have never met this one before, but he is more precious to you than anything else you've ever known.

You can tell that he is going to use your little one against you, and you can't do anything to prevent it. Until now you have been patient. You have been in pain, been humiliated, been abused in so many ways that you lost count, but you have dealt with it. You have been strong for the sake of your belief, but you are starting to lose your patience. You are starting to lose your calm and apathy. All because of one troll in the hands of your worst enemy.

The Grand Highblood is watching you, grinning at you, while keeping a firm hold of his captive's arm. The little one is frozen in place, mumbling something that you can't make out. His pupils dilated with fear, his tiny body, which seems even smaller compared to the huge Highblood next to him, is shaking, but he wears the same stubborn expression you do. Both of you are not going to give in.


	2. Chapter 2

You don't know how you wound up here, but it was definitely an accident. There was no way that Strider had meant to send you so far back in the past, meant for you to witness such a thing.

When you arrive, you have no idea where you are or what's going on. The second your eyes adjust to the darkness you can make out two trolls on the other side of the respite block. It doesn't take a genius to figure the situation out. You are no wiggler, who has no idea how sex works. However, this doesn't isn't what sex should be like, you suppose. Even kismesis would not torture their partners so badly, and then force them to have sex.

You take a deep breath, and then gasp. The smell is sickening. Blood, arousal, pain, fear, a mix of so many things. You cover your mouth, and hope that the trolls didn't notice, but you know how troll hearing works, and that there is no way that they didn't hear you.

In an instant the huge troll is upon you, and presses you to the ground, shredding your clothes when you're down. You shriek and struggle, but he easily overpowers you. He takes a deep breath, and then forces you to look at him. A shudder runs through your body when you recognize his face. It's the face of your moirail, but it's not him. That only leaves one option: The Grand Highblood. The thought is enough to make your blood run cold. You growl meekly at him, but he just chuckles.

His hands roam over your body, and you can see the insanity in his eyes. It makes your stomach churn, and you just wish that Strider pops back up and gets you out of this mess. His strong hands settle on your horns, and when he stands up, he drags you with him. You are completely powerless compared to him, and when he hauls you over to the other troll, you feel like a rag doll being tossed around by a kid.

Then you stand in front of the other troll, but you don't get a good look at him yet, because you're to busy struggling – even though you know that it's pointless. Finally you look at the other, and your insides freeze. He looks just like you.

The Grand Highblood caresses your face, gently, like he is your matesprit. The Signless, your ancestor, is frozen; staring at you. Staring at you like you are the one thing he always wanted.

The moment your eyes meet – despite you being paralyzed by fear, yet shaking so badly that you're surprised you can even stand – you realize that, no matter what's going to happen, you will do your best not to give in. You will defy the Grand Highblood.

 

Your ancestor looks at you, and you see nothing but love and worry in his eyes. It's quite new to you, to be the object of such feelings, and while you would like to relish the fact that someone loves you, you are scared of what is going to happen to you. You're in the hands of a madman, known for his cruelty and insanity.

Sharp claws dig into your side, as the Grand Highblood lifts you up with one hand. This one hand is almost big enough to wrap around your waist, and strong enough to lift you up, like you weight nothing.

It's scary, to be so helpless. You know you don't stand a chance against your moirail's ancestor, and unlike Gamzee, shooshpapping won't work on this one, nor will words stop him – as you can plainly see by how he treated your ancestor, who is well known for his ability to talk people out of doing stupid things. And this definitely counts as stupid.

You try to struggle, but he just tightens his hold, making it hard for you to breath. He chuckles and lifts you up, so you are face-to-face. Your bloodpusher beats so hard that you feel like it might jump out of your chest. His face is covered in paint, similar to your moirail's, but instead of a happy face, it looks more like a skull. His eyes roam over your body, and his looks alone make you feel violated. His other hand caresses your face, fingers tracing your cheekbones and moving on to your nubby horns.

He doesn't seem like he's planning to hurt you, merely interested in you the same way a child would be in an insect, but you know better; even children rip of the wings of insects. You have seen what his descendant can do, if he is in the right mindset. You have little desire to find out what the Grand Highblood himself can do, yet you have no choice. You keep hoping that your knight in shining armor, or rather the knight of time, is going to show up and whisk you away. Maybe even take your ancestor with you.

But you know that those are futile hopes and dreams.

A tongue on your cheek breaks you out of your thoughts, and makes you shudder. A curse slips from your lips before you can stop it. But the Highblood only chuckles, and licks your other cheek. It is gross, and makes you want to vomit. You are dimly aware of the Signless growling a threat, but you are too focused on keeping control over your body to give it more thought.

Suddenly you're being moved, or rather, the Grand Highblood is moving. Taking you with him. When you're gently, oh so gently, being lowered on a pile, your stomach sinks. The mere thought of what he might do to you, is enough to take your breath away. He lowers his body onto yours, pining you with his weight. He is so heavy that you think he might crush you. Unintentionally a soft cry escapes you, and the Highblood chuckles. He tears your remaining clothes with surprising ease. His hands move to your legs and spread them apart. You try to close them again, but he is already in between your legs; his eyes never leaving your face reveling your fear.

Your ancestor growls warningly and the Highblood turns to look at him. You expect the Grand Highblood to growl back, but instead a smug grin graces his face. You can't see the Signless, but you can hear his futile struggles against his bounds. The Highblood chuckles and turns his attention back to you, making you swallow audibly.

He nips on your neck, not quite biting yet, but you know it is only a matter of time. A clawed finger traces patterns along your back, not cutting the flesh, not yet anyway. You are beyond terrified, but you will be damned if you submit to this thing. Or at least you hope that you will last.


	3. Chapter 3

You wish you were in a different position. A different situation, a different life even. Anywhere but where you are right now. Somewhere, where no oversized psycho troll is pressing you down, almost choking you. Somewhere, where you could just talk to the troll chained to the wall. The troll, you always wanted to meet. But the gods never seem to consider your wishes.

\---

You pray for a miracle, but there won't be one. You have long been abandoned by those you prayed to. You have always preached equality and peace. Freedom for those who were slaves. Equality amongst your people. Harmony and Pity, working together to create a new society. But you were so blinded by your ideals that you never paused to consider that maybe, just maybe, the highblooded trolls would not like the concept of equality. That it would take away there privileges, and make them just as normal as you are. You thought that if you were just given the chance, you could talk sense into them. Make them see what they could have.

And they saw what you offered. They didn't like it.

The Grand Highblood has taken everything from you, partly on their demand. Your friends, your matesprit, your mother, but he has not taken your pride. The one thing he was never able to attain until now. Not once did you beg for mercy, not once did you give in and beg him not to violate you. The Highbloods thought that they could get a rid of you, but you knew that there would be someone after you, carrying on your dream. And there is. The frail little troll held in the claws of your worst enemy. You have never felt such rage before.

You lost everything. Yet nothing felt as bad as seeing your descendant in the claws of the Grand Highblood. You have suffered so much, yet you would willingly take all the pain away from your little troll, just so he could be safe.

The Grand Highblood is touching him, pinning him to the ground and running his claws all over your little one. Unkown rage surges through your veins, giving you strength you didn't know you had left. You growl at the Grand Highblood, daring him to come and hurt you. He is not immune to mockery, as you found out at the beginning of your punishments, but for once he does not fly at you, tear into you. Instead he turns and looks at you, giving you a smug grin. Red seeps into your vision, and you start to struggle against your bounds anew.

\---

The Signless is struggling, that much is clear to you. You can hear the clanking of metal bounds, and the curses that spill from his lips. You are scared of what the Highblood will do to him. But surprisingly He does not fly into a terrible rage, and tears your ancestor limb from limb. Instead He chuckles and turns back to you, looking at you with these insane indigo eyes that are so much like you moirail's yet nothing at all.

He asks you if you are scared. His voice is rough and deep, raspy like sandpaper.

You look him in the eyes, glare at him defiantly. But you know that he's able to smell your fear, is able to taste it on his tongue.

Suddenly sharp teeth prick the skin of your neck, and you hiss. A low rumble fills the air, and you realize that he is purring. The sound makes your blood run cold. He takes your wrists in one clawed hand, pinning them over your head, leaving you exposed. Your ancestors curses get even louder, but you can't really make out the words he's saying over the sound of the ringing in your ears.

You have been prepared for this situation ever since you realized that you were different, that you were less of a troll than the others, that you were a mutant, out of the hemospectrum. Had the Highbloods found you, you might have suffered a similar fate. Violated, tortured and culled.

Yet the reality is different from everything you prepared yourself for.

The Grand Highblood glances hungrily down at you, and runs his tongue over his lips. Savouring the taste of your blood. You growl and he growls right back. A warning. One you should heed, but you cannot. You are not going to go down without a fight, even if you can't win this battle.

His other hand is in your hair, pulling your head back and exposing your throat. You shiver, but bare your teeth at him. His tongue slithers down your throat and along your collarbone. Disgust wells up in you, and you struggle to keep your composure. Teeth follow the path His tongue traced before, nipping and breaking skin. It hurts, but you know that he could hurt you much worse, if he felt like it. So you keep quiet.

He lets go of your hair and touches your abdomen. Clawed fingers tracing patterns on it, breaking the skin. It takes you a moment to realize that it is your sign he's tracing, the sign of cancer. The sign of your ancestor's shackles. Bile is rising up, and you swallow.

The Grand Highblood stops for a moment to look at his work. Slowly, ever so slowly, he shifts until he can bite along your belly, without having to let go of your hands or wrenching them in a way that would make your shoulder pop out of its socket.

Your mind begins to wander, and you wonder if anyone is going to notice that you are gone. No, the others will notice that you are gone, but you wonder if they will take you back after what is going to happen to you. They would, you assume, you are their leader after all. But you wonder whether or not you would be able to look them in the eyes again, to be comforted by your moirail again. You miss Gamzee, the silent comfort he offers. You wonder if he would figure out who hurt you, if he would smell it on you. You wonder, if you are going to make it out of here alive.

You snap back into reality when your legs are being spread apart even further. It's painful. Your legs are not meant to be spread like this. He doesn't seem to care and grins down at you. Dread spreads through your body, making you feel cold and hot at the same time. Yet you glare at your captor, showing him that you will not give in.

\---

It pains you to be unable to do anything. An unkown feeling of helplessness washes over you, making it hard to concentrate. It has always been just you, and you knew how to ignore it, how to withstand Him. But now it's different. Your bloodpusher is beating hard, and the feeling of helplessness mingles with am unbelievable fury. He has no right to lay hand on your bloodmatch, your descendant, your hope.

You want to leap over to the Grand Highblood and tear him of your little troll. You want to rip out his throat with your teeth, claw out his eyes and stomp on them. You want to break every single bone in his body and skin him alive.

Never before have you felt such fury, not when they sold your mother to slavery, banished your matesprit, and doomed your bestfriend to a life as a mere tool. Everything pales in comparison to the anger you feel.

The Grand Highblood is roughly yanking your descendant's legs apart, settling inbetween them and grins down at him. It makes your blood boil. Your descendant glares right back at his captor, showing his defiance. But you fear that his bravery will do him no good. He is but a child, and he never experienced such cruelty, like the one He is capable of, before.

\---

His eyes promise you pain, yet his hands are surprisingly gentle, for the moment at least. Your legs hurt from the unnatural angle, but you can't close them with the Grand Highblood resting between them, leaving you open and vulnerable.

He takes full advantage of the situation, letting go of your wrists and burying His head in your thighs, nipping and biting the soft flesh. It hurts, but not as bad as it could be. You grab onto His horns and pull, but it's a futile effort. He's much stronger than you, mocking you by releasing your wrists, showing you how helpless you are. But you are not giving up just yet, you rake your claws over the horn base, were orange keratin meets soft skin.

The Highblood growls and raises His head, leaning forward so that you are eye to eye. Then He backhands you hard, making you black out for a moment. When you wake up again, your ears are ringing and the room is spinning. It takes you a second to notice that your hands are tied uncomfortably to your neck. It seems that you are wearing something like a collar, to which he attached the chains on your wrists. It's degrading, and leaves your body exposed. It's even worse than before, since now both of His hands are free, while yours are useless now.

You can hear him chuckle, and he moves back into your vision, asking you if you are comfortable. The desire to tell him to fuck off is strong, but you think you can't take another blow to the head yet. You need to be conscious.

Something is missing and you can't tell what it is. Then it hits you. Your ancestor is silent, no curses filling the air, only the rattling of bounds. You crane your head to look at him, and see him gagged and glaring at the Highblood. You must have been out longer than you thought, since apparently He had enough time to tie you up and gag the Signless. Neither of you is pleased with the new development. Fury is written all over your ancestor's face, whereas yours must show a hint of fear, but you try to shake it off.

The Grand Highblood watches you exchange looks, before he gets back into his former position between your thighs. A large tongue starts licking your thighs where sharp teeth left bitemarks before. It feels disgusting, and you want to get away from this. The tongue is slowly moving towards your nook, making you shudder.

You are six sweeps old. You have never been with anyone.

Not once did you think something like this would happen, after you started the game. Yet here you are, at the mercy of an adult troll. And the troll has no mercy. He would tear you limb from limb, if He felt like it. You only hope that he keeps his bloodlust under control. The Grand Highblood isn't Gamzee, he cannot be calmed down with shooshpaps and feeling jams. So, you wait for his next move and hope that you make it out of here alive.

He notices that your mind has begun to wander, and brings you back with a bite, too close to your nook. You shriek and instinctively try to close your legs, a futile attempt. He goes back to licking and biting your thighs like nothing happened, and you wonder what your thighs look like now. Judging by the pain your in, they must be covered in bitemarks and bleeding. Every attempt to see what is going on, is blocked by the Highblood's hair. You wish, you could see what he's doing, so that you can anticipate his next move. Not knowing what's going to happen, is even worse than seeing it, or so you think.

A clawed finger traces the edges of your nook, making you whimper unintentionally. Your bloodpusher is beating so hard now that you can feel it in your throat, and your blood is ringing in your ears. You want to kick Him away and run as far away as possible. Yet you know that it is not possible, so instead you try to be strong.

Then the finger pushes in, probing and testing the entrance to your body. It hurts and feels weird. You have never experienced something like this before. Even though you are almost matesprits with Terezi, you are still too young to be interested in such things, and you have next to no experience with sex.

Soon a second finger follows, stretching the small channel. It burns, and when a claw tears the skin, you growl. He chuckles and removes his fingers. For a moment you are almost grateful, but then the tongue is back. First circling around your nook, then pushing in. You bite back a whimper, and try to wiggle away. He grabs you by your thighs and pulls you close, burying His tongue inside you again, pushing and pulling at your insides.

You ancestor growls around his gag with protective fury. The sound makes you shudder with the desire to crawl into the Signless's arms, to be protected from the Highblood.

Finally the tongue pulls back, and you suppress a relieved sigh. You are unaware of Him looming over you, watching you closely. A hand grabs your hair and pulls your head back. You instinctively open your mouth to let out a curse, and He instantly takes advantage of it, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You gag and try to pull away, but the grip he has on your hair keeps you in place.

Fingers probe your nook again, roughly pushing inside. But this time there are more than before, and it hurts like nothing before. Your screech is swallowed by the Highblood.


	4. Chapter 4

Unadulterated pain is crashing through your body, setting your nerves on fire, only intensifying the torture you're currently going through. A metallic taste fills your mouth, and you realize that you have bitten down on the offensive tongue intruding your mouth.

It's an awful taste, and you have to bite back the bile rising up your throat. You never liked blood for obvious reasons, but you have also disliked the smell for as long as you can remember. As it turns out, the taste is no better. 

The Grand Highblood does not seem to care that you bit him, in fact, the purring increases and he tries to shove his tongue deeper down your throat. You almost choke on the repulsive tongue and the feeling it causes. One part of you wants to close your eyes and pretend that you are far away, the other part of you is screaming at you to fight back. 

If only you knew how to. Your arms are useless, tied to your neck in a very uncomfortable way, and your legs are blocked by the Highblood. One hand is enough to hold you down. You feel helpless, but you convince yourself that you will find a way out of this, that you just have to keep on fighting.

Another finger enters you, and you feel your body involuntarily trying to buck up and away from the intruding finger. Another whine threatens to escape you, but the Highblood swallows it up before the sound even leaves your mouth. 

It's painful. No words can describe the pain you are in right now. Fingers are stretching and tearing at you insides, a hand is holding you down, while the other is buried in your hair, bending your neck to an almost impossible degree, and for a second you wonder what it'd be like if the Grand Highblood snapped your neck. Your vision is slowly turning black, and you wonder if the lack of oxygen will let you slip into unconsciousness and spare you from further pain. 

But finally, the Highblood pulls back, and you gasp for air. Much needed oxygen is filling your lungs again. 

\---

Red fills your vision, and rage, so strong that it makes you tremor, fuels your strength. You violently tear at your shackles, ripping your skin and damaging your wrists. But you don't care about that. All you can think about is getting to the Grand Highblood and tearing Him of your descendant.

You don't care what He does to you. But He has no right to touch your bloodmatch, your hope. You howl around your gag, when He tears into your little one. You struggle even harder, blood is running down your arms in candy red rivulets, but you don't care. All you can focus on is to get the Highblood away from your descendant.

\---

Dots are dancing before your eyes, air fills your lungs again, but the dizziness remains. The room is spinning around you, and everything seems dimmed down, like you're underwater. You want to say something to Him, tell him to leave you alone, tell him that his descendant is your moirail, tell him that you're not meant to be here, anything. Anything to get him away from you.

But even if you could tell him, you doubt that he'd care. Insanity is rolling off of him in waves, reason is lost on the Highblood.

 

Once again he shifts on top of you, settling in more comfortably between your legs. It is then you realize that the pants, he had hastily pulled on after you unwittingly gave yourself away and allowed yourself to be captured, are gone. The dizziness fades and panic sets in. You growl and twist underneath Him, trying to kick him. He easily grabs onto your legs and holds them apart, staring down at your vulnerable body. 

He moves forward, and you howl. His bone bulge is pushing against your nook. It's big and will tear your badly, and both of you know it. He is set on taking you and keeps pushing harder against your nook. Naturally, your body clamps down and tries to keep the offensive object out, but that only serves to intensify the pain. 

The Highblood snarls and backhands you, using even more force to push inside, but it is difficult and painful for both of you. 

All of a sudden he stops and pulls back. You allow yourself a deep breath when he gets off of you, and leaves. You know that it is far from over when he returns with some sort of rod. It is not as big as His bone bulge is, but bigger than the fingers that stretched you before. 

He tells you that he will stretch you good, that he will take you, fuck you until you bleed. 

That is the only warning you get before he shoves the rod inside of you, pushing it as deep as it can go. A scream freezes in your throat. Tears start running down your cheeks, and you can do nothing to stop them, nor do you want to. 

You feel like you're being split in half. 

After a few thrusts you pray that you will pass out, but He doesn't allow it. Every time you feel close to fainting, He pulls the rod back and gently slaps your cheek. When He is certain that you will not slip into the sanctuary of unconsciousness, he thrusts the rod back in. Your body fights the intruder, and your try to buck away from the offensive object. It soon turns into a vicious circle. You almost faint, he stops, when you're alright again, he thrusts the rod in again until you almost pass out.

After a while He seems to lose interest. He stops moving the rod and just stares at you. You don't know what he is searching for, but he seems to find it. The Grand Highblood pulls the rod out of you, and you can feel blood running out of your nook, staining your thighs. His tongue is back, probing you nook and pushing inside. As much as you hate to admit it, you're glad that it is His tongue and not the rod. He pulls his tongue back out again, and starts lapping up your blood. 

When he is done, he sits up and pulls you into his lap. Gently, he wraps his arms around you, and pets your hair. You would like to believe that it is over, but you can feel his bone bulge pressing against your thighs.


	5. Chapter 5

Your skin is crawling. It feels like tiny animals are moving below your skin, tearing at your muscles, gnawing their way into your bones. You are not familiar with this kind of hatred, and always have abhorred it. You have preached peace and equality. Pity instead of hatred. Yet, when you watch your captor violate your descendant, you welcome the hatred, the wrath. It makes you stronger, less caring about your own body, less concerned with the state you're in. Reason is becoming less of a concern, and more a buzz in the back of your mind.

The shackles are not giving you an inch, but the blood running down your wrists is slowly slicking up the are around your wrists and the shackles, making it easier for you to move your arms. You don't know if you will be able to pull your hands out of the shackles without doing serious damage to yourself, but you do not care. Not at all.

The only thing important right now is the tiny troll in the arms of your enemy.

Enemy, never before have you thought of Him in such terms, never lowered yourself to His level. Until now you never cared about His torture, dispassionately let him do what he wished to you, never used violence against Him. Now you rage against your bounds, tearing open old wounds. You would gladly rip your own body apart to keep him safe. Seeing your descendant hurt and scared changes your attitude faster than you imagined. 

Both of you are trying to hang on. 

You have seen it in his eyes. The silent promise of defiance. The silent promise of not being broken by the monstrosity that has both of you in it's claws. 

But you are starting to realize that it is much harder to be defiant when you are not the one on the receiving end of the Highblood's attention. When you are not the one being tortured.

You swore you would defy Him for the sake of your cause, not out of personal animosity. However, your cause is quickly fading from your mind, and all you are concerned with is your little troll's safety, and the animosity is growing just as quickly.

Seeing the Highblood violate your descendant with his tongue, running his claws all over the young troll's body, touching him in ways He had no right to, has you straining against your shackles, screaming against your gag. 

Your captor is pushing His fingers inside your descendant again and again, and you see him biting his lips, trying not to scream or cry. But he's fighting a losing battle, one he can't possible win. The Highblood knows ways of torture neither you nor your descendant could ever dream of. 

He's roughly pulling your descendant's legs apart, trying to enter the troll so much smaller than Himself. You know that it will not work. You also now that the Highblood will make it work, and you desperately struggle against your bounds. A red haze slipped into your vision a while ago, and you think that it will not go away again. Ever.

The red tinting your vision is your own blood, you realize. When you pulled at your shackles, you had thrown your head back to take a better look at them. Some must have dripped into your eyes. You had not noticed that you were bleeding so much. You hope that this will be enough to free yourself from your bounds.

When He gets off of your precious descendant, you would like to believe that all is over, but you know better. When He returns to your little troll with a rod in His claws, you growl and scream at Him from behind your gag, tear at your shackles in a useless effort to get Him. 

The shackles do not give away.

You can do nothing but watch as He violates your descendant with the rod, pushing him to the point of unconsciousness, only to bring him back. 

The hatred you feel for Him is so strong that it feels like your skin is burning with incredible heat, like the air around you should be on fire, that He should feel the hatred piercing his skin like arrows.

When He is done, He pulls your precious hope into His lap. Cuddling him softly.

You want nothing more than free yourself and tear your little troll from him, and the Grand Highblood to pieces.

\----

He is gentle for now. Running his fingers through your hair, nuzzling your neck, and rocking you slowly back and forth.

It's soothing. More than it should be.

You do not trust the Grand Highblood. Not at all. 

He is kissing your neck again, moving on to your collarbone, and then your forehead. All the while humming softly to himself. This gentle side scares you more than the insane side. The insane side, you know what to expect, the gentle side, you have no idea what to do. You think about what you would do if He were your moirail, but you cannot imagine that. Not at all.

He is nothing like Gamzee. And you will make sure that Gamzee will never be like him.

If you make it out of this alive.

The Highblood's hands are trailing down your sides, one comes to rest at you waist, carefully supporting you. The other does not stop, but moves on to your legs, and you instinctively close them. You wait for the blow, but nothing happens. Instead He just carefully strokes down your thighs to your ankles, and back up again. 

He kisses the wounds He caused, and let's you rest against his chest.

You feel almost relaxed, but you will not let your guard down.

And you know you were right not to, when a hand breaches your closed legs to grab a hold of your bone bulge.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The following part contains sexual abuse of a minor, mind games and violence. 
> 
> Written from the Grand Highblood's point of view.

The tiny thing in your arms shivers when you reach between his legs, and grab his bone bulge. He tries to move away, but he cannot escape your grasp. You are much stronger than him, and he has nowhere to go. This is your territory. He has nowhere to hide.

But you decide to play nice for now, it'll be more fun that way. 

So you carefully stroke the little troll's bone bulge, and caress his upper body with your tongue. However, it's not working, and the little troll is not responding in the way you want him to. You suppress a growl. You want to throw him to the ground and take him. Make him bleed, make him scream. But you can't, not yet. You want to enjoy this. To draw this out.

The thought of being inside that little body, of your bulge being sheated inside the hot, wet tightness you felt on your tongue before, of his blood on your tongue, makes it very difficult to follow through with your plan. 

A growl from the wall draws your attention back to your favorite prisoner. The hate seeping from him is delicious, and you wonder how long it's going to take until he has torn his body into little shreds for his precious descendant. You don't want him in little pieces, it's too much fun to keep him alive, but you also want to see him covered in that delicious candy red. You want him to kneel at your feet, want him to pledge his allegiance to you, want him to be yours alone, want to break him all over and over again.

He will be. It's only a matter of time until they are both broken. You thank the mirthful messiahs for sending the little miracle in your arms straight into your den. 

The miracle shifts, and tries to get away from the unwanted touch, but he is no match for you. You had hoped that this part would be easier, that he'd be more compliant. Then again, you know his ancestor, why would the little troll be any different? It's more fun this way, you suppose.

You could take him by force, make him howl and beg for mercy. You shiver at the thought. It would be delicious. However, you need to stick to your plan. Instead of throwing him to the ground and burying yourself inside the heat, you keep caressing the body. You understand that caresses and fake reassurances will not work on the young troll, so you decide to use one of your favorite weapons. Your chucklevoodoo.

Slowly, very slowly, you prod his mind. You can feel his fear, anger, defiance, pain and hints of desperation. Your mouth waters at the taste of those delicious feelings. You want to draw more pain, fear, and desperation from him. And you will.

Ever so slightly his feelings change, soothed by your chucklevoodoo, and confusion starts to scratch at the surface of his thoughts. Fear, pain and anger are steadily pushed back until they are barely on the little troll's mind. You spread more confusion, and caress his body again. You shower his body with kisses, and gently stroke his bone bulge. He realizes that something is wrong, that things shouldn't be like that, but you push the thought far back in his mind.

You keep up your treatment, and ever so carefully, fill his mind with, albeit unwanted, arousal. 

His body is finally reacting to your treatment. His pulse quickens, and his breathing becomes shaky. A exquisite red blush spreads over his cheeks and collarbone. Panic wells up in him, the feeling of wrongness accompanies it, and you push it back yet again. Once again you suppress a growl. You can hardly believe how stubborn the tiny miracle in your arms is.

His body is responding so well now. You can hear how hard he tries to silence his moans, and feel desperation, though of a different kind, fill his thoughts again. You chuckle, and lick his ear. His breath hitches, and he tries his hardest not to move his hips. It's almost adorable how hard he tries to remain in control. But he has no control here. You do.

And you intend to show him that.

You stroke his bone bulge slowly and steadily. The growls from the Signless are getting amusing. The desperation and anger in them makes your arousal so much more difficult to contain. The little troll suppresses another moan, but you feel him move his hips to meet your movement ever so softly. You pour more arousal into his mind, and the effect is instant. He gasps and bucks his hips into your grasp, hands reaching out to cling to something, to you. Your strokes turn faster and so do his hip movements. You shift him around until his back is against your chest, and the Signless is facing his descendant. Shame quickly spreads through the tiny miracle, but you push that back as well. 

The Signless is looking at his descendant with dread in his eyes, and you can feel warm droplets splattering on your arm, and smell the scent of candy red tears. You decide that it's a good time to remind them who is in charge here, and use your free hand to join the other between the little troll's legs. He almost chokes when your hand wanders lower, wanders until it reaches his nook. Carefully your fingertips prod the tiny opening, but don't enter quite yet.

You allow the panic to spread in his mind, but make it mingle with lust and arousal. 

His ancestor no longer looks at the tiny miracle, but at you. He knows something is off, knows that his descendant is being manipulated. You grin at him, and show off your razor sharp teeth. You allow yourself to take a peek at his mind, and your arousal spikes immediately. There is so much hatred, so much anger, all directed at you. So delicious, and all for you.

A strangled scream breaks you out of your mental exploration, and back to the troll in your arms. He's clawing at your hands, and trying to lift his body upwards. You realize that, when you took a look at the Signless's mind, you lost control and shoved your fingers completely inside your tiny miracle. Your fingers stretch the little troll roughly, and you watch in wonder, since you hadn't even been aware of entering him.

You take a slow calming breath, and force your fingers to stop their rough treatment, just let them rest inside of him. He whimpers, and tries to lift his body up again, but your other hand has taken to stroking his bone bulge again, and your chucklevoodoo is once again filling his mind with arousal.

But this time he fights back, tries his hardest to block out your chucklevoodoo.

He can't keep you out, and it is only a matter of time until you win. His body once more open for your treatment. The stroking of his bone bulge distracts the little troll from the fingers inside of him, and you decide that now would be a good time to stretch him. He will be too tight for you, if you don't stretch him, but the rod might loosen him up too much. 

You are aware that this is a complete and utter lie. Even if you'd use the rod, he'd never be to loose, but you are a sadist, you take pleasure in admitting that, and want to hear him scream. Want to feel him clench around you, tearing around you, begging for mercy, while you bury yourself into the tiny body over and over again.

The thought of being inside the tiny miracle again, makes you work harder and faster. Every now and then you draw a pained cry from the other, but you quickly distract him again. His body is getting closer, and you keep pushing his mind. With a sob he comes, shaking in your arms, and realising his genetic material all over your hands. 

Shame floods his mind, along with fear, realization, and utter dread.

You give the little miracle a push, so that he topples out of your lap and lands on his belly. You only need one hand to hold him down. 

Your own bone bulge presses against his book, and you no longer bother to use your chucklevoodoo to calm him. You want to feel his pain and fear.

It's difficult to get inside the other. Even though you stretched him, he's still too tight for you. But you are not going to let that stop you a second time. Wounds heal, and you are not too concerned with his health, as long as he lives. 

You keep pushing and pushing until you are completely buried inside the hot tightness, that clenches so exquisitely around you. You have to stop and relish it for a moment. It feels so very good. The little miracle beneath you whimpers, clawing at the floor below, trying to move, to do anything.

You are not going to let him. 

Roughly you trust into him, his tiny body moving forward with each of your thrusts. He screeches and whines, blood is slickening your way inside his body. You care little about your plan, and the troll beneath you now. It's all about you, about your pleasure. And you will take as much pleasure in this miracle as possible 

You bend down and bite his neck, drawing another choked sob from the little troll. Your hips move forward, when your hands jerk the lithe body back onto your bone bulge, drawing scream after scream from your tiny miracle.

At one point he stops screaming, and you pause for a split-second, before you realize that the other passed out. At least, there's less resistance now. You thrust into his body with more force than you had intended, but you enjoy this much more than you had expected. The Signless never let's you hear his beautiful screams anymore, nor does he cry so nicely.

The Signless howls, and you allow yourself to look into his mind again, in between thrusts. The hatred has grown so strong that it almost overwhelms you. Your body no longer moving on your own accord, mercilessly pushing inside the much smaller body until you are close to your own release. The hatred makes everything so much better. You dig deeper and deeper until there is nothing more, but his hatred and your pleasure.

You give in. Your body releases your genetic material forcefully, making it spill out between the thighs of your little miracle. You give a few slow thrusts, riding out on the waves of pleasure, before you decide to go back to your plan.

You look up and smile at you long-neglected, favorite captive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading this so far


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I know it's been forever since I updated, but life has happened and so has a writing block.
> 
> I'm not satisfied with this chapter, but I didn't want to keep deleting pages forever. So here goes nothing.

There it is again. That greedy, disgusting stare. 

The Grand Highblood is running your eyes up and down your body, taking in your self-inflicted wounds, the blood pouring down your arms. The blood loss makes you feel lightheaded, but not lightheaded enough to drop your guard. You do not drop your guard. Not around him. Never around him.

He licks his lips, no doubt thinking about what he can and will do to you. 

You desperately want to kill him. Rip his bulge off and shove it down his throat. Tear him apart from the inside out. He hurt your precious descendant. Condemned him to a fate worse than death. And you are powerless. Bound by a monster. 

The only thing you can do is not to break, not to give in. But the longer you watch him hurting your little troll, the more you feel your sanity slipping. Rational thoughts, replaced with red-tinted rage. Inner calm destroyed by fear. Fear, not for your life, never for your life, for your descendant. The little thing that carries all your hopes, the fragile troll you want to live on. 

You don't know if he can, after this. 

The Highblood chuckles. He feels that you're slowly slipping. You're not going to give him the satisfaction of doing just that. You're going to fight back. The moment he unchains you to do whatever humiliating act he has planned for you, you are going jump him, gauge his voice box out and laugh when he chokes on his blood. 

Your stare falls to the little troll laying unconscious on the floor. Blood is seeping out from between his legs, and tear tracks visible on his face. Red mixed with indigo. 

You want to howl. 

You want to take your bloodmatch into your arms, and protect him from the world. Hold him until everything is alright again.

You want to dig your claws into the Grand Highblood, ripping him to pieces, bit by bit. You are going to start with his skin, tear it off. Then move on to the muscles, using your teeth to yank the fabric apart, moving on to the stronger strings.

His howling laughter rips your from your thoughts.

He is standing right in front of you. And you never even noticed him approaching. 

The satisfied look in his eyes makes you growl. A deep, hateful growl. 

And he keeps laughing.

\-----

It's not much longer now. 

You have been working towards this moment for a while now. Longer than you had anticipated. Longer than you had wanted. You thought that the peace-loving mutant would be licking your feet after a week in captivity.

He didn't. You liked the challenge. Still do. Like messing with his head, finding new ways to shatter his body. 

His soul.

You have all the tools you need to destroy him. He will be your pet, your soulless little puppet. You savor the thought of the Signless being completely compliant. You enjoy the fight, you do, but the image of your captive bowing down to kiss your feet makes your bloodpusher beat so fast that you are surprised that the other can't hear it. 

You are giddy with excitement.

It's time for the final act. 

\------

The Highblood is staring at you with its manic grin in place, insanity pouring off of him. You once felt sympathy for him, no you can only feel hatred, a feeling you long thought you abandoned. But the Highblood is perfectly capable of turning your serenity into rage.

Your descendant is out cold. His tiny body laying on the floor, covered in blood and genetic material. You have been like that too. But you are a fully grown troll, have reached maturity. The little one has not. You will ensure that he will.

You try to calm yourself, try to refrain from blindly lashing out at the Grand Highblood. It is difficult, but you can do it. If not for your sake then for your bloodmatch's. 

\----- 

He is trying to hold himself back. To keep from being careless, to find a way to kill you. Euphoria is so close, but you cannot allow yourself to let go just yet. You are not quite done.

It would be too easy to unchain him, and take him right next to his descendant, to enjoy him while he had to look his own helplessness in the face. You already came up with a much better plan, so you control yourself. You will have him.

But you are going to break him thoroughly while doing so.

Again you turn to your chucklevoodoo. It is not possible to erase the anger and hatred from the mutant, but you don't want that either. Where would the fun in that be? 

Your chucklevoodoo hums in agreement as it slowly slides into the Signless's mind. Taking up residence and digging around. It fuels his hatred, working against the calm that the mutant has been trying to rebuild. You won't let him. He is delicious when he is full of rage and hatred. And despair. You have not tasted his despair in a while. 

Yet here it is again. Not for him, never for himself, but for your little miracle. 

Grinning you move back to the little troll and pick him up. Letting him rest in your arms. He is so tiny, that you could crush him with a single hand. The power rush you feel is unexpected, but not unappreciated. 

You wrap your fingers around his neck. It's so thin, so utterly breakable in your hands. In the back of your mind you can feel the Signless's anger through your chucklevoodoo. You knew that the little miracle would be the key, knew it the second he stumbled into your den, eyes wide and terrified. 

The Mirthless Messiahs have been generous today, and without a doubt you will repay them. More sacrifices will be made.

But the mutantbloods you will keep. They are yours now. Yours, and yours alone.

The Signless chokes back a sob and you realize that you are projecting all the things you dream of doing to them. He is terrified, scared for his descendant. Desperate for freedom and safety. 

He will not have it.

Instead your chucklevoodoo slowly takes control of him, of his body. You have never done this to him before, never saw the need to. But now he will be your puppet on a string. Incapable of moving his own body without your bidding.


End file.
